


all the stars are abloom

by florapaw



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Drinking, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Partying, but nothing in too much detail, depends on how you want to read it, i guess lmao, possible unhealthy kisesissitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27433660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florapaw/pseuds/florapaw
Summary: You feel tiny and cramped, pressing up against the side of the wall, curled in on yourself like a timid little turtle.It’s odd, certainly, to feel this way.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. sequan

**Author's Note:**

> never bury my bones apart from yours, achilles / let them lie together

You feel tiny and cramped, pressing up against the side of the wall, curled in on yourself like a timid little turtle.

It’s odd, certainly, to feel this way.

You’re here, at this party, at the invitation of Lassox. It isn’t their party – you had to travel to a suburb of bronzes for this party, so you know that Lassox likely knows _who’s_ throwing it, but you’ve tried, from your vantage point in the corner, to figure out who it is. It’s almost like a game – just barely – but you’re tired of playing it.

There’s others that you know, scattered about in the room, some you’ve just seen in passing. Tenata, who you were surprised to see when you arrived, had handed you a cup of _something_ (you’re still too scared to try it, for a variety of reasons that you’d rather not get into) and swung her hips in time with the thumping music. Tenata looks beautiful tonight, you note, a little jealously. She has pretty hair that reaches her thighs, and tonight it’s curled and cascading down her back like a goddess. You wish you could look like Tenata.

You’ve also seen Romcie and Cairow (why a highblood agreed to join a _lowblood_ party is beyond you), on the floor in one of the rooms in each other’s arms, Romcie threading her thin fingers through her matesprit’s hair while he incoherently babbles on about something, the size difference between the tiny Romcie and the tall Cairow almost too comical for you to ignore. Your toes curl in your shoes, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Lassox is who you’re really looking for. You agreed to join the party the day before, and while Lassox had made it sound logical through text –

_c’mon sequan, +here ain’+ any reason +o go +o a par+y, but boy howdy, isn’+ i+ the job of a moirail to come wi+h?_

\- but, if you were going to admit it, you had hoped that Lassox really had wanted you there themself.

You lift the cup in your hand to your lips, and then hastily remember what it is, and lower it again. You’ve never been to a party, but Tenata tells you, constantly, what happens when she drinks. You sniff the drink curiously, for perhaps the fifth or so time, and you cringe. It’s got a sharp tang that hits your nose and makes you recoil. You don’t want to be like the passed-out trolls on the lawn, or any of the ones making fools of themselves by dancing too loudly, talking too loudly, so you abandon the drink once and for all on a windowsill. Some drunk troll grasps for their drink, accidentally picking up yours instead, and you think it’s for the best.

A body stumbles into yours, and for a moment you’re worried that whoever it is may be drunk. The jostling action of them slamming into you might trigger nausea, and you just bought these new Mary Janes. You step backwards, disgust pre-emptively crossing your face, but instead it’s Iliali, who seems, at least, partly sober.

“Oh geez, I’m sorry Sequan,” he apologises, reaching out and adjusting the cardigan you’re wearing for you. You falter. You don’t know Iliali all that well, just knowing what Tenata has told you. They are kismesis, after all, and even if Tenata has told you how much she admires Iliali’s research, she’s also told you plenty of negatives.

What was it that they say, the enemy of my friend is my enemy?

“It’s okay,” you answer, because it is. One of your fellow olives has brushed past Iliali, sneering at the teal. You recognise her from your neighbourhood, but you don’t know her name, and you quickly look down to your shoes.

Iliali regards you for a moment, lifting his cup to his mouth and taking a long, thoughtful sip. “You look nice. Not wearing what you normally wear, right? Did you dress up for this?”

You can feel the tips of your ears grow warm. Iliali doesn’t know you; he doesn’t get to know that you had asked Tenata for a nice dress to wear for Lassox. The dress you’re wearing is black, with green accents, with a gentle splatter of pearlescent glitter over the bodice. The lighting reflects off it, in some spots here and there, and it makes you dizzy.

“I wanted to look nice,” is all you say, and Iliali leaves it at that. When you look back up, he’s smirking, but it doesn’t look too mean spirited, and that’s more than you could ask for. He gives you a wave, and you wave back, just to be polite, and he leaves you be once again.

Almost immediately as Iliali breezes past, you spot Lassox entering the room. A wide smile stretches across your face, and you wave to them. They spot you, and they smile, genuine and warm and kind. You think your heart skips a beat. Lassox heads towards you. Now your heart _really_ skips a beat.

“Howdy,” they greet, all sharp teeth and twanging accent. “Golly Sequan, you look nice! Dressed up all spiff, huh?”

You giggle, girlish and light, and Lassox’s grin only widens, which makes you giggle all the more. You feel like a dumb, flushed child. You’ve never felt so small.

“I wanted to look nice for this party. I wanted to look _pulchritudinous.”_

_Lassox lifts their bandana to their lips, which they’re still wearing, even at a party, and tries to play off their smirk, but you see through it. You deflate. You must have used the wrong word._

_They take your hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it, which makes your heart race. “I’m mighty glad you’re here, Sequan.”_

_Your voice becomes quiet, hushed. “I’m glad I’m here too.”_

They lead you through the sea of trolls, their height making it easy for other to realise that the two of you are approaching, and Lassox has an easy time guiding you. Their hand is warm against yours, which feels a little sticky. But their hand is firm, secure. You love everything about Lassox, but there’s something in particular about their hands that you love most of all. They feel sturdy, _confident_ , and Lassox makes it feel like everything is perfect.

You love Lassox, wholly and truly. You don’t understand your feelings right now, unsure if its pale or flushed, but in the end, you decide it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same to you, and you’re content to fall in love with Lassox all over again.


	2. lassox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for it would be better to die once and for all than to suffer pain for all one's life

With Sequan hovering around your side, just barely peeking out from around you, you look around the room, feeling all sorts of content.

The party has been going well, so far at least. No arguments, serious or otherwise, have broken out, and it feels perfect. You feel Sequan step forward, toward you, as a group of trolls push through the doorway. You squeeze her hand, gently, and she, after a moment, squeezes back. She’s the greatest. Sequan can have a bad attitude at times, which you’re aware isn’t for everyone, but she loves you in such a pure way that it swells you with joy every time.

You turn to Sequan, pausing, and pushing her into a safe little corner, out of the sea of others. “I’m going to get myself a drink. Want me to get you one too?”

She hesitates, just for a moment, but then she nods. She doesn’t move to speak, so you place your hand on top of her head and ruffle it softly. “Be right back, then.”

You step into the crowd, manoeuvring it easily. There, close by, was a table. On the table was what you were looking for – drinks. You know Sequan isn’t used to parties; she’s not normally invited, and when she is, she grows nervous and fidgety, so you know that she doesn’t have anything in particular that she drinks. You pick up something that smells vaguely sweet and hope that she’ll like it.

With two drinks in either hand (picking up the same drink for you; you think she might be inclined to drink it if you drink it with her) you turn, ready to head back, when you bump into someone immediately. You lose your grip on one of the drinks and it goes spilling to the floor. You sigh sharply and look up, ready to give whoever had bumped into you a stern word, but you falter when the grinning face of Cairow is staring back down at you.

You feel a sudden urge to deck Cairow in the face.

“That was on purpose,” you say, low, unhappy, not asking a question. Cairow laughs, because of _course_ he does. His sharp teeth clack together, grinding in his mouth. It’s a stupid habit of his, one you’ve mentioned to him time and time again, but it seems like he hasn’t tried to fix it yet.

“Was not,” Cairow answers, playfully, and you know that if he hadn’t been drinking, he’d have you face down in the dirt for what you said.

You feel like you should be happy that a highblood was your kismesis, honoured, even, but instead you just feel seething hatred. There are plenty of things you admire about Cairow, but his position was certainly not one of them. You look around the large troll, ignoring him as he starts to lazily tell you about his day, as though you’re friends or something, and stare helplessly at Sequan, still standing in the corner. She looks worried, looking between your eyes and Cairow’s back. You shrug, but give her a reassuring smile anyway.

By the time you look back up to Cairow, he’s still talking. He just never shuts up, does he? You think that it’s the polite thing to do, to listen to him.

“- So me ‘nd Romcie, right, went to this fuckin’ sick rave the other night, right?”

Ah, so he’s talking about Romcie.

You don’t understand why he’s with Romcie. First of all, she’s a rustie – bottom of the hemospectrum, a nobody. The class divide between them is great, and it is beyond your reach to understand what that means. That’s another reason why you hate Cairow. The dissonance is great, between your two classes. Your theories are numerous. Your favourite is that Cairow’s matespritship is simply performative for some kind of political gain.

Iliali told you that you were crazy. Sequan hasn’t said anything about it, but you know she likely feels the same way.

Romcie is too good for him anyway, what with her sweet smiles and the cute synthesized girl musician she adores so greatly. She’s like Sequan, in that way. You’re sure that if you hadn’t met Sequan (who you had needed to calm down in order to convince her not to fistfight the girl who had sneered at her and said that Trolstoy was a terrible author), you’d surely be pale for Romcie. You’re aware, just for a moment, how much of a sucker you are for damsels in distress.

Cairow is looking down at you, hazed expression loosening the smile on his face. His face paint was cracking around his mouth. Surely, it’s from all the talking he’s been doing.

You feel a sudden urge to fix it for him.

You pour another drink for Sequan, and you almost miss the way Cairow raises his eyebrow, and this makes you stop. “What?”

“You’re not goin’ to answer?”

“I wasn’t listening to you,” you answer plainly, because telling the truth is all you can do in this situation. “And why should I? You’re bothering me.”

He’s laughing again, so loud and amused and deep – attractive, almost. Well, it would’ve been attractive if his personality wasn’t so coarse. You scowl so deep it hurts, and you try and dart around him, but Cairow stops you easily. He’s tall, easily a head or two above you (a feat, what with your own height), and his arms are like rock when they come down in front of you, making you stumble. You don’t loose the drinks this time.

“I was just sayin’ that we should hang out sometime. I don’t know, go on a hate-date or somethin’.”

He reaches over to the table and pours a drink. He downs it with perfect precision, hand flicking the shot down his mouth. He puts the bottle back on the table, though, and then lifts his arm from in front of you. His smile is mocking, as though he doesn’t fully believe it himself. It makes you seethe.

“Well, I better let you get back to that little olive of yours,” Cairow says, already walking away, presumably to Romcie. “Have fun partying Lassox. Call me sometime.”

You hate Cairow Kirwen with everything you have, but you swallow your pride, just for a moment, and head back to Sequan. She’s been waiting too long, and you think you’d like to spend the rest of the night with her.


	3. cairow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the turmoil of her soul, her soft cheeks turned from rose to white and white to rose

The walk back to where you left Romcie is long, partly because that drink you downed in front of Lassox is rushing to your head, and partly because you don’t know the fucking layout of this hive. Romcie is sitting in the corner of the floor you left her in, and she’s scrolling through something; Chittr, probably. She’s wearing one of your hoodies, although she’s practically drowning in it. She’s chewing on the edge of the sleeve. The sight makes you smile.

“Hey Rommie! I’m back!” You say, loudly, and you make an exaggerated sweeping gesture with your arms. Romcie looks up, the sleeve still in her mouth, suckling on it like a newly born baabeast, but her expression brightens almost immediately.

“Cairow! I thought you must have left without me; you were gone way too long!” She puffs out her cheeks all cute-like, trying her hardest to look upset, but you know she isn’t. There’s a look of adoration in her eyes.

“Ha, and leave my girl here all alone? You couldn’t even pay me to do that!”

You say it because its true, and Romcie shuffles over to let you sit down. You sit yourself down by her, almost immediately moving to lay your head in her lap. Romcie is small, and it feels a little uncomfortable, to be laid out across the ground taking up so much space, but Romcie smooths your hair back from your face, picking the few stray hairs stuck to your face paint away.

Her hands are small, and soft, and you grab one before she can pull it away. She glances curiously down to you, and you press a soft kiss to the back of her hand. Her hands are small and soft, and you don’t ever want to let go.

“You have hands for the piano. Has anyone ever told you that?” You say, just as the thought comes to you. Your voice is softer now, and even in the sea of trolls you don’t know, you’re still careful when you talk about it. Romcie’s expression softens.

“No, no one’s ever said that,” she says, barely above a breath, but you can hear her perfectly clear.

You used to play the piano in clown church. You started when you were younger – much younger, because no one else had wanted to do it, and they needed to train someone for the task. You liked it well enough, but your hands were always too big for it. Too bulky. But it’s true, that Romcie is perfect for it. Her hands are small and thin, and her fingers move with a kind of poised grace. You don’t play the piano in church anymore, but sometimes you still do, just for you and no one else.

“You have perfect hands,” you tell her. “For the piano, I mean.”

Romcie’s cheeks are a light burgundy, and she giggles, and you resist the urge to kiss her. Pleasantly embarrassed, Romcie lifts her arm to chew on the sleeve again, taking attention away from her face.

She’s perfect, every inch of her.

What you feel for Romcie is every bit as violent as your hatred. You’re used to feeling that, with murderous tendencies that are hard to ignore, and really, it’s only gotten worse since your last moirail left. You don’t really know what his deal was, just one day he said he didn’t feel the same anymore, and you haven’t spoken since. But Romcie was something different entirely. She smiles at you, and you feel weak beyond belief. She’s not your moirail, but it almost feels like she’s something better.

And it sucks juggalo ass that you don’t spend as much time with her as you want.

Your hive is a fair distance from hers, and you have other things to deal with (like church, why do you spend so much time at church?) that make it pretty difficult to hang out. Chittr is pretty much your sole way of interacting with her at times. Although you can’t complain; the pictures she sends of her are pretty cute.

You feel a warm hand meet your cold skin, and you jump. It’s Romcie, and she gives you a look of worry. “You spaced out a bit. Are you alright?”

“Just thinkin’ ‘bout how dumb it is that we don’t hang out all too much,” you tell her, and she gives you a sad little smile.

“Yeah. It is dumb,” she agrees. “But I don’t mind! You have stuff to do, and I don’t mind.”

She’s soothing you, gently papping your cheek. You don’t know why – it’s not like you’re particularly mad about it or anything, but it feels so nice that you don’t say anything. Her hand is small and soft against your skin, and you wish you could feel as pacified as this every day.

“Yeah,” you hum, and then move so you’re sitting up again. “Hey, want to go do somethin’ once we get outta here?”

Romcie gives a little squeal of delight, and it’s so cute to see her get so excited. “Oh, okay! What did you have in mind?”

You lean forward and kiss her, right on the top of her head. You want to pepper kisses up and down her arms, reaching up her neck, kissing every tiny freckle on the bridge of her nose, but you settle with the top of her head for now. You don’t really want to risk others looking. Kissing Romcie like that, like she’s made of porcelain and one wrong move could break her, is so intimate to you that you wouldn’t dare do it in front of others.

“Don’t know. Think you’re up for a late-night snack run?”

And Romcie laughs, cupping your cheeks in her hands and bringing you down to her height. It’s uncomfortable for your back and neck, but you don’t mind if it’s for her. She presses her lips against yours, and they taste bitter from the alcohol she’s been throwing back.

“I’m up for anything if it’s with you.”

And with that, you feel like everything is perfect.


	4. romcie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> go then if you must, but remember, no matter how foolish your deeds, those who love you will love you still

Cairow goes in for another kiss, but you can see his eyelids drooping with exhaustion, so you laugh and place the palm of your hand in front of his mouth instead, but he isn’t swayed, and instead he kisses your palm. You’re aware that Cairow doesn’t sleep well a lot of the time, and the alcohol he’s had wouldn’t have helped in the slightest.

“You’re tired,” you note, not missing his attempt at hiding a yawn. “Come on, you can sleep a bit if you want.”

He makes a noise like he wants to disagree, but at the same time he’s already resting his head against the top of yours. He’s out like a light, and he feels like dead weight pressing against you, but you know how much this is needed, so you don’t complain.

You open your Chittr feed and scroll through. There’re a few pictures of trolls you seen at this party, all posted to show off their outfits and drinks. There’s one of one of your neighbours, reposting something political that you don’t understand. There’s nothing else too interesting, so maybe letting your matesprit fall asleep on you like this wasn’t the best course of action.

You resign yourself to looking around the room. Trolls are playing beer pong, and someone is retching into the garden out front, you think, but there’s nothing of interest until you see Iliali.

Iliali is a funny troll; the funniest you believe you’ve ever seen. He’s uptight, with an odd sort of disjointed way of speaking to others. He looks a little lost in this party, and it’s painfully obvious that it’s not usually his place to hang around at. His hair is a mess, and he still has a pencil comfortably behind his ear. And he’s looking directly at Tenata.

You heave a sigh at that, and from above you, Cairow stirs, groaning and mumbling something incomprehensible. You pause, still, waiting to see if you have actually woken him, but it seems like Cairow is more or less dead to the world.

You auspistise between Iliali and Tenata, and sometimes it gets tiring. Their feelings are turbulent, wild and hateful in ways you can’t imagine. But you can see the way Iliali is looking at Tenata, who is casually talking with another troll she must know. It’s detestable, of course, but there’s a look of genuine longing. You’ve been wondering for a while, and this must be the confirmation you were looking for.

Iliali is vacillatating red for Tenata, there was no doubt about that.

You giggle to yourself, thinking about how you were going to go about auspistising for them from now on. Iliali must’ve realise you were watching him, because he narrows his eyes at you for a moment (likely trying to discern who you were underneath Cairow like you are) and then he heads towards you. You panic for a moment, and then place a finger to your lips, pointing up to Cairow, although Cairow has been sleeping this whole time, so it’s unlikely that Iliali talking to you would wake the sleeping clown up.

When Iliali makes it to you, he sits down across from you, not caring that he’s in the way of people. Iliali gives you a smile, and then he rests his head in his palm.

“Having a fun night?”

“Oh, yes,” you answer, laughing, although you’re not lying. Spending time with Cairow was still spending time with Cairow, even if he was asleep. “A lot of fun. You’re been staring at Tenata, did you know that?”

Iliali flushes teal, and he tries to hide it by suddenly finding interesting in tying and retying his shoelaces. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You feel sorry for him, sorry that you brought this up when he clearly isn’t comfortable with it, so you change the subject.

“What have you been doing lately, Iliali?”

He looks back up, his cheeks still flushed, and begins to tell you about his latest research.

“I’ve been calculating the wind speed around my hive to see how it relates to the air pressure, and possibly the humidity, but I’m still unsure how I’m going to record that information,” and once he starts talking, there’s no way to stop him.

You listen, because Iliali is smart and his research is genuinely interesting. He doesn’t do it for any real reason, he’s told you that he just likes to do stuff, figure out why things are the way they are. You can’t imagine feeling so strongly about something as wonderfully smart as science, and doing it all just because you’re _curious_? You really believe that Iliali is the best troll you know.

Cairow lets out a wheezing sigh, dropping more of his weight against you, and for a moment Iliali looks worried for your safety, but you wave away his concern. This was just what matesprits did, and you want to hear about what he’s been doing more than talking about your sleeping matesprit. You tell him as much, and he looks surprised with the amount of interest you’re showing.

“Are you sure you want to hear me talk more?” He asks, sounding maybe a little bit nervous. “I’m sure you’ve been doing stuff that just as interesting, and I’d love to hear about that, too.”

You giggle and shrug your shoulders idly. “Not really. But I’m interested in what you’re doing. How did you get into weathering charting anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t really know. One day I just decided that I was going to do something smart sounding, and the weather was the coolest thing I could think of,” he laughs, a little uneasy and awkward.

You nod, careful not to disrupt how Cairow is laying. “I think that’s still really cool, Iliali. You’ve found something you enjoy, and who knows! Maybe one day your research will give us something really interesting that we can pass to the next generations. You could become famous!”

He laughs in the same stilted way again. “I don’t know if I’d like that, but thanks Romcie. It means a lot, really.”

You smile, kind and sincere. “Of course, Iliali. Anything for a friend.”


	5. iliali

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all my love gone for nothing. days of my love, years of my love

You stare at Romcie, not entirely sure how to respond. She’s staring at you kindly from underneath the highblood sleeping on her, brushing some of his hair from her face. You falter, not sure how to react. Friends aren’t something you have too many of, and while you’re sure that Romcie is genuine, you can’t help but feel uneasy.

Friendship always seemed way too stressful.

“Oh, uh,” you stop, looking nervously to Romcie, but she doesn’t seem to mind one way or another about your lack of response. You stand abruptly, and still Romcie remains as passive as ever.

“I’ve got to go,” you tell her, and she gives you a thumbs up.

“Of course. Stay safe Iliali,” she tells you. “I’ll see you later.”

You walk through the crowd, not sure where you’re going. You narrowly miss bumping into Sequan again, but she doesn’t seem to notice, instead watching Lassox wide-eyed while they recite a story to her. She seems to be enraptured by whatever Lassox was saying, her eyes following every exaggerated move they make. It’s almost cute; Sequan was so like a child, right down to her indignant tantrum throwing. But you walk past regardless.

You’re once again back to watching Tenata. It’s almost pitiful, how much you watch her. You’re starting to feel disgusted in yourself, although you’re not entirely sure why. You think it’s partly that watching someone like this is making you feel wrong, but you also know it’s your conflicting feelings that are making you feel this way.

Romcie knows how you feel about Tenata, and you feel embarrassed, that she knows this. If Romcie knows, who else knows? Certainly, Tenata herself doesn’t know, right?

You search Tenata’s face for any indication that she knows something, which sounds weird, even to you. You couldn’t possibly tell when she’s talking to someone else. But you’ve started, and now you can’t stop. You follow the curve of her legs. You can see her skin through the slit in her dress, and you follow her up. The dress she’s wearing accentuates her curves, her silky hair is over her shoulder, bouncing as she tilts her head from one side to the other as the other troll says something. Her tongue pokes from her lips, a sure indication that she was bored in whatever she was talking about. Her long eyelashes brush her cheeks, and she is so hypnotising.

You clearly have been looking at her for too long, because it’s only a matter of time before she looks over to you. You flinch. There’s seething hatred in her eyes, which only works to make you feel worse. She gives the troll she was talking to a little wave, and then she stomps her way over to you. You look nervously to Romcie, hoping she’s watching and willing to give help, but she’s moved Cairow’s head into her lap and she’s petting him calmly. There’s no use trying to get her attention, so you look back to Tenata and accept whatever she’s about to scream at you.

She approaches, and she pushes you sharply backwards. You trip over a sleeping figure on the floor, who surprisingly doesn’t stir. Tenata looks _pissed_.

“Have you been staring at me all night?!” She asks sharply, her manicured hand balling into a fist. You look nervously to the fist, worried that she’s going to punch you, but you look back to her face to face, trying desperately to convince her that she definitely didn’t just catch you staring at her.

“No, I haven’t!” You say in response, mustering up as much anger as you could. That wasn’t too hard, because now Tenata was causing a scene, and your embarrassment was enough. You don’t raise your voice as much as she does. It gives you an air of superiority. “How conceited are you, to think that I’d like to waste my time staring at you like that.”

Tenata leans forward towards you, her voice bitter and scalding, all at once. “Don’t play dumb Korang. I saw you. Don’t you _dare_ look at me like that again.”

“Like what?” You challenge, not really wanting an answer from her, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Like you’re flushed for me!”

You basically choke on the air that you’re breathing at that, but you try hard not to let Tenata know how you’re feeling. Her arm reaches up and jabs you so hard in the chest that you’re almost winded. You’re starting to wonder if this kismesissitude was healthy. You don’t know if it’s your possible flush crush ruining it, or if Tenata has simply always been this volatile and you had never given it a second thought. That poke feels too meanspirited to be comfortable.

You lower your head and give her a mumbled apology, and she seems to like the submission you’re showing. The small group of people around starts whispering, wondering if this is going to escalate, and for a moment, you’re worried it will. Tenata looks too happy in the spotlight to be ready to let it go, but she does. She takes a step back.

“Fuck off or something Iliali. Don’t come near me again.”

She walks away, and you’re left alone in the room. The room feels cold – from Tenata’s presence, maybe? You’re not sure. You just know that you’re going to have to talk to Romcie pretty soon about it. You don’t know what to do, and you’re sick of feeling confused.


	6. tenata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my love for you / was greater than my wisdom

You walk away from Iliali, feeling superior as hell. You’re feeling high, maybe from the alcohol, you’re not sure, but it makes you feel good. As you walk further and further from Iliali, you start to regret your actions a little. Sure, he was annoying, and your feelings had been growing steadily darker as time wore on, but you still felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe you’d apologise later, maybe if Romcie wasn’t busy.

You walk back to the drink table, and pour another one for yourself. You’re just about to turn and head back into the fray, when you feel a tiny figure by your side, tugging on your dress like a child, to get your attention over the music. You look down, and it’s Sequan. You flush jade, but she doesn’t seem to realise.

“I saw that argument you had with Iliali,” she tells you, looking worried. “Are you okay?”

There’s a brief urge to wave it off, play it cool for her, but then you simply shrug instead. “Oh, it’s just a kismesis thing, you know?”

But you know that she doesn’t know. It was difficult for Sequan to even fill her pale quadrant (although no one could doubt that it was the most beneficial to her), and sometimes it feels like the whole world hated her like a kismesis did. Sequan was prone to outbursts of arguing, and it was quite common to see her in the midst of a tantrum. You couldn’t blame anyone who steers clear of her.

And yet, you’re still flushed for her.

Where Sequan is bratty and stubborn to a fault, she can also be loyal and insightful. She has a habit of misinterpreting the books she reads, trying and failing to use the words she’s picked up, but she does it all with such enthusiasm that it’s nothing but sweet. You’re sure that what you’re feeling is love.

“Just a kismesis thing,” Sequan echoes quietly. “Right, it’s just that it looked pretty serious.”

“Hey, it’s nothing for you to worry about, alright?”

She brightens a little, just at that, and then she nods. She bounces a little on the balls of her feet. It’s cute. She doesn’t have a lot of friends; mostly just you and Lassox. She seems pleased to be hanging around you. You pick up your drink and take a step away, waving her to follow.

“Come on, lets go! We can’t just stand around all night.”

Sequan follows you, standing up a little straighter. You think she looks really cute, with her dress all puffy and the glitter reflecting the lights from above. It freckles her face, over her nose, over the apples of her cheeks, and she looks young and youthful, not jaded in any way. You’re glad she asked you for a dress, even if it was to impress Lassox.

The two of you walk into the crowd, and she’s bouncing in time with the music, self-conscious, as she glances around to each of the trolls surrounding them. After a moment, she looks uncomfortable, like she would’ve rather still be around Lassox, but she continues to dance alongside you. You smile, hoping to put her nerves at ease, and she smiles back.

“Read any good books lately?” You ask her, over the loud music in the background.

“Oh, yes. Some, but I’ve mostly been trying my hand my poetry.”

You think that’s really cool of her. “How’s it going? What are you writing about?”

Sequan flushes, and you know what she’s bound to say. “Oh, I’ve seen some cool stuff when I’ve been walking around. That’s good to write about and, you know, other stuff.”

“Love?” You tease, laughing when she stutters something, because you know you’ve hit the mark.

You know you love Sequan, but it’s clear she doesn’t feel the same way, and you can live with that. There’s something so sweet and pure about her response that you can’t even think about telling her how you really feel about her. She loves Lassox, and while she has let you know her feelings for them, you wouldn’t dare try and coach her on how she feels, red or pale. You love her too much for that.

You reach out and take her hand, and you spin her around with the music, and she laughs, bright and true, and it’s the warmest sound you have ever heard. 


End file.
